The Voludani hid outside of our sensor ranges, sat, and listened.
They got to know us. Better than we knew ourselves.
They put together their plans, and surprised the hell out of us.
A perfect replica of Jesus, Moses, and the Twelfth Imam appeared.
Along with the messiah of every other religion or cult.
They announced that these were The End Times, and they assembled their armies.
Every nation, every community, and every culture were turned upside down and against each other.
Fire, blood, and death swept over the globe.
The Voludani cheered, and flew off to the next show.
Maids
We called our first maid Jane.
I don’t remember what her name was, but we called her Jane.
She wasn’t a very good maid, so we replaced her.
We called that maid Jane, too.
As the family grew, we hired more maids.
We called all of our maids Jane.
It didn’t matter which maid came, as long as one came to do what we wanted or needed.
The maids called us Master or Miss.
It didn’t matter, really.
Divorces and deaths, births and marriages.
We’re all the same to them, in the end.
It’s just a job to do.
Rags
When I was little, I wore pajamas to bed.
Bright-colored pajamas with racing cars and trains and zoo animals on them.
As I grew up, or the pajamas wore out, I’d get new pajamas.
And the old clothes ended up in the rag basket.
For wiping up spills in the kitchen or drying my dad’s car after we washed it.
I’d pick out the familiar tatters out of the basket and remember wearing them.
These days, I don’t wear pajamas.
And I use sponges and paper towels for spills.
And use the automated car wash at the gas station.
Bedtime Story
put on your pajamas
brush your teeth
drape tomorrow’s clothes
over the back of the chair
lay your slippers on the floor
and get into bed
i will read you a bedtime story
kiss you on the forehead
fluff your pillow
and smother you with it
no more goodnight moon
or little red riding hood
or three little pigs
tomorrow, we’ll put your body
in the old wooden trunk
strip the sheets from the bed
wash out the filth
tidy up the room
greet the van from the orphanage
and welcome a new little boy
or new little girl
welcome home
Ketchup on a dog?
I grew up in the Shermer of John Hughes’ movies.
Deerfield, Upper Arlington, Glencoe, and Northbrook.
There was a great Chicago Dog place called Ira’s in Northbrook.
The ketchup bottles at the counters were there for fries.
Just fries.
And you did not dare get ketchup near the dogs.
You got yelled at by the owner if you put ketchup on the dogs.
Ketchup was on the menu, between relish and mustard.
But you never asked for it. Ever.
When I go to Minutemaid for a game, I’ll get cheese and onions and mustard.
Maybe chili.
But never, ever ketchup.
Morton Morton
The Morton Twins were always pretending to be the other.
It started off innocently, with simple cases of mistaken identity, but things got ugly fast.
Pete would rob houses and hide the loot in Paul’s room.
And the things he did while babysitting the neighbor kids are too horrible to mention.
Paul visited his brother in jail, right up to the execution.
When Pete got to Hell, he’d tell others that he was Paul, and he bragged about the things he did.
When Paul died and got to Heaven, he completely forgot about Pete.
“Mercy.”
The angels smiled and winked.
Weekly Challenge #627 – Pick Two Granite, Pertinent, Record, Surely, Tag, Bridge, Proud, Detective, Tarp, Caramel
Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.
This is the Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
We’ve got stories by:
JEFFREY
The Morning After
by Jeffrey Fischer
In the 1970s, my parents participated in a monthly bridge game that rotated among houses. The host would put on a record, put out some food, and provide a great deal of liquor. They’d drive home, somewhere between tipsy and plastered – the 70s were groovy, children – and loud enough to wake the kids.
By the sober – and hung-over – light of the morning, the recriminations started. “You should have bid six no trump!” “I clearly signaled to you that I had no spades.”
Bridge games faded away like bell-bottoms in the 80s. So did my parents’ marriage.
SHO
George was a pirate,but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Pillaging and burning was fun, but it didn’t seem like a reliable vocation.
He enrolled in the local Jr. College and took several courses in accounting.
In time George developed great bookkeeping skills and set up shop as an accountant.
Soon he was working for Calico Jack, Henry Morgan and Black Beard.
“Wow” thought George, “this is like plundering with out all the blood.”
Everything was great until Black Beard took a look at the books. They tried George for
misappropriation of funds and made him walk the plank.
CHARLIE
The record, and all the pertinent data, including videos viewed, was inscribed on the granite pedestals of the bridge. A bronze tag was prepared and attached to the bottom of the column. The record was that of all of my personal Facebook history.
Zuck agreed to pay for all the materials, property, and labor. I threatened him with exposing his dicpic from school. If he did not comply, he would surely be embarrassed, and so would his wife’s family.
I was amazed at how much data was in the file. I requested it from FB, and it arrived minutes later.
LIZZIE
Mr. Caramel was surely the one who knew more about everyone else. He noticed every single detail regarding the neighborhood and memorized it thoroughly.
Mr. Caramel could hear his wife chatting languidly with Mr. Granite, that Mr. Granite…
Mr. Caramel decided, right there and then, that he wasn’t going to do anything but enjoy the warm hours of a lazy afternoon. He slowly stretched his neck towards the sun.
If Mrs. Caramel wanted to eat, she could go prepare things herself… or ask Mr. Granite.
He stood on the pole and closed his eyes. Mr. Caramel was a proud seagull.
RICHARD
#1 – Murder!
“Cover it up, I’ve seen everything I need”
The officers pulled the tarp over the bodies, hiding the crime scene from prying eyes; Detective Fredericks sighed. A senseless waste of life… And why?
These two victims brought the total to six: All young supermarket employees, just doing their jobs, brutally murdered in bizarre circumstances.
The first victims, crushed by half a ton of wheatflour; another suffocated – oats forced down his throat. Now these two, stabbed through the heart with corn cobs.
He didn’t know the motive, but Fredericks knew for sure, he had a cereal killer on his hands!
#2 – Pride
Just for the record, I want to make it clear that I’m proud of my kids. Sure they may not exactly have ‘excelled’ in their endeavours, with Joey in prison – for the third time – and Amy banned for life from athletics for doping. And then there’s George, the pirate. Pirate, my arse! He was an undercover cop, until his cover got blown and they forced him to walk the plank!
So, not very good at all at what they do.
But still, I’m proud of them, because there’s one thing that they all do extraordinarily well…
Get caught!
TOM
In the moonlight blood turns black
They found the body under a tarp at the center of the Granite Bridge. The head Detective placed a toe tag on the victim and noted his cursory finding in a small book to record the basic facts. The watch commander asked Reilly a lot of very pertinent questions later that night. “Surely, the perp entered the bridge from the south end,” said Captain Jeremiah O’Brien. Lieutenant Caramel Santiago suggest a counter argument. “Given the marks on the lower section of the bridge it is possible he came up from the river.” All eyes turned to Santiago, she beamed proudly.
JON
My Fair Lady
By
Jon DeCles
The detective found the pertinent record in the corner, under a caramel-colored tarp covered in dust. Surely the builder was simply too proud to notice his error, which was why he wore a tag on his toe down at the morgue, victim of a disaster of his own making. The great span of the new granite bridge had been impressive until the vibration of usage proved it to be weak where it could not afford to be weak. The builder was standing at the base when, like London Bridge, it came falling down. She decided the cold case was closed.
SERENDIPITY
In my profession, we have standard methods for disposing of bodies.
We’ve moved on from acid baths – they take forever, they stink, and there’s only so much acid you can buy before arousing suspicions.
These days, we keep things simple: wrap the body in a tarp, and bury it; or wrap the body in a tarp and throw it off a bridge; some wrap the body in a tarp and weigh it down with rocks, for disposal at sea.
But I’m getting too old for manhandling bodies in tarps.
Although, I make decent money: Manufacturing tarps for the Mob!
NORVAL JOE
Billbert ate his lunch alone, constantly surveying his surroundings like a detective on a stakeout.
Roderick was a grade higher than he and ate his lunch at a different time. Surely, they were unlikely to cross paths at this time.
The pertinent question was how was he going to get home after school without getting beaten up?
Maybe he could tag along with some of the kids who lived in his neighborhood. Would Roderick confront him with witnesses to record the event?
Then he realized. He could take the bus. Crammed in like sardines Roderick wouldn’t get close to him.
PLANET Z
It has been a record-setting year for people jumping off of the bridge.
Leonard with the Park Service has his electric cart ready with a tarp when we spot someone going over the rails.
Ricardo handles evenings, and Paco handles weekends.
For a while, they kept score in the breakroom.
Someone complained to the director, and they wiped the board clean.
When the electric cart runs low on power, they plug it in to charge.
But sometimes they forget, and they try to run out with the tarp.
It’s too heavy to carry. They end up dragging it out there.
Not so special delivery
The old woman in 6G pays the mailman to slip her mail into other people’s mailboxes.
Her family is long gone. She doesn’t get any visitors.
Neighbors used to bring up her mail, she’d offer them tea, and they’d sit with her a while.
And suffer her long and boring and sad stories.
Now they just slip her mail under her door. Or throw it out.
She called the super about a gas leak.
“I’m not falling fir it,” he mumbled. “She’ll talk my goddamned ear off.”
After an hour, he smelled smoke.
The fire department couldn’t save the building.
The Boosters
While Heather lay unconscious in her hospital bed, the alumni boosters prepared a deal for her.
Hospital bills paid. A full scholarship.
Whatever she wanted.
Just tell the police that it was a mistake. Or an accident.
Daunte Washington, star quarterback and Heisman candidate, her boyfriend, never laid a hand on her.
There were rumors, but nobody could prove a thing.
Nobody would talk. Booster cash buys silence.
The police closed the case.
Daunte won the Heisman, got a huge contract and lots of endorsements.
Heather never woke up.
He paid for her funeral, and they buried the ugly truth.
Portsbend Soup
Wandering Jack wandered from town to town with a stone and a bullshit story about how the stone was part of a recipe for the greatest soup in history.
He kept the scam going for years, convincing townsfolk to gather together and bring the actual ingredients for the soup.
Until Portsbend.
Everybody in Portsbend showed up with their own stones.
“No,” said Jack. “We need potatoes and corn and lettuce and beef bones and…”
“Well, why don’t you go get them yourself?” the townspeople said.
“That’s not how it works!” Jack shouted.
Jack fell screaming under a hail of stones.